The 7 Stages of Grief
by Glitterberryy
Summary: Walking Steve through the 7 Stages of Grief.
1. Shock and Denial

**A/N: I don't own anything affiliated with Hawaii FIVE-0, but boy, do I wish I do!**

**I don't mean to beat on Danny...or Steve...I just have a bad day and this happens! Eeep! Writing a chapter a day, so it all depends on my mood how this turns out. So COULD be a possible death fic. IF it is, I promise to handle it with the utmost care and deliver it with the dignity and love it would deserve. I'm really hoping it's not though. **

**Enjoy!**

**P.S Set anytime after s.3, Malia never died, and Kono is in Canada with Adam.**

* * *

_**The 7 stages of grief**_

_**Stage 1**_

_** Shock and Denial**_

Waiting is the worst part, Steve decides, and inevitably, the longest part too. He paces the length of the waiting room, eyes watching nurses and doctors rush about in the chaos of the ER through the darkened panes of glass, hands running through short hair, down his face, back up to his hair. He stops; a quick glance at his watch, rubs fingers over chapped lips, glances back at his watch again. Resumes pacing. His hands are shaking, and he feels sick. Danny's blood stains his skin, and no matter how many times he scrubs clean, he still sees it there, tattooed as a permanent reminder of his cock-up.  
He closes his eyes against the harsh reality of his surroundings, pinches the bridge of his nose as he attempts, and fails, to forget where he is and why."Steve?"  
He opens his eyes, lifts his head up and spins around to the direction of the strangled voice, and a wave of relief, love and regret punches him hard in the chest. For a second she continues to look at him – her teeth worrying her bottom lip, her eyes wide and tearful, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt – neither making the first move.  
"Cath." He eventually chokes out, takes a step towards her, and then their bodies are crashing together, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, his snaking around her waist and pulling her close. He turns his head into her hair, inhaling the familiar scent, as she buries her head into his shoulder, tears dampening his shirt. Her sobs are silent, but they shake her body, and Steve wants to tell her to stop, _just stop_, because he'll be okay; Danny will be okay, because _he has to be_.  
They stay moulded together for an immeasurable amount of time, using each other as a support, propping each other up, until they become so emotionally drained it physically exhausts them and they end up dropping into one of the plastic leather-effect couches. Catherine curls into a ball, snuggles into Steve's solid side, the familiarity offering little comfort as he places one arm around her.  
_'This doesn't make sense'_ 'Steve determines._ 'Danny was okay, ranting and raving, and now this. It just doesn't make sense.'_ He looks up, continues to watch the bustling ER; a room he's made far too many trips too. He glances back at his watch again, rubs his eyes when the hands are blurred, and sighs when he sees only three hours have passed since they arrived at the hospital. He closes his eyes, hangs his head and does something he hasn't done since he was a child; he prays.  
The air shifts around him, and Steve looks up to see Chin standing in the doorway.  
"Any news?" He asks first, stepping over the threshold when Steve gives a small nod of reassurance, and takes a seat opposite his boss, friend, eyes flicking to the dozing Catherine and back again. Steve shakes his head slightly, mouth twisting into a grimace.  
"I have HPD processing the scene now. What happened out there?" Chin asks and Steve takes in a deep breath, tries to steady his voice.  
"I don't know." He states simply, shrugs his shoulders slightly. "We approached the building, came under fire from three, possibly four different shooters, but we took them out." Steve trembles at the memories. "And then Danny was there, shoving me to the ground and there was blood. Lots of blood."  
"We found four bodies at the scene. HPD will be along to process your weapon, and Danny's too, if it was discharged." Chin nodded. "There must have been a fifth shooter." He concludes and Steve rubs at his temple.  
"He was bleeding from the head, Chin." Steve says the words neither want to hear. "That's not good. He was hit, and bleeding from the head." He chokes on his words a little, takes a shaky breath and tries to steady himself. Chin's calm expression doesn't falter, he nods once and reaches across to place a friendly hand on Steve's knee.  
"Let's wait for an update." He suggests. "Try to stay positive." Steve nods in agreement, and Chins leans back into his chair, folds his arms across his chest. Steve closes his eyes again, because he's so exhausted, so tired, he's sure he can't keep them open any longer.

* * *

"_We should wait for backup." Danny suggested, as he checked his vest was secure and pulled his gun from the holster at his hip.  
_"_You are my backup." Steve grinned in his psycho-friendly-SEAL way, and Danny rolled his eyes.  
_"_I knew you'd say that." He shook his head, as he opened the passenger side door of the Camaro. The cartel were hiding drugs in the old sugar plantation, and Chin called them twenty minutes ago from Kamekona's shrimp truck to say that the deal was going to go down tonight. So if they wanted to catch these sons-of-bitches, they had to do it now. They thought that they had the element of surprise on their side, but as they headed up the muddy walkway, gunfire had rung out, bullets flying from smashed windows. Steve had rolled to the right and taken cover behind a large rock, Danny ducked left and crouched behind an empty, discarded metal barrel."I want it on record, somewhere," Danny had shouted over to Steve as a hail of bullet showered around them, 'that I wanted to wait for backup!"  
_"_Noted, Danno." Steve shouted back, then they both took aim and started shooting back at the building. Eventually, after what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, the gun fire ceased and silence fell. Danny looked at Steve, who seemed to be in once piece, and gestured wildly at the golden flecks of spent rounds on the ground between them.  
_"_See, Steven? This, _this_, is why we should have waited. This is why people automatically grab for a tac. vest when they see you coming. You're an animal, a magnet for trouble, out of control!" Danny ranted and Steve laughed.  
_"_What's the matter, Princess? Did you mess up your hair? Break a nail?" Danny huffed, pissed at his partners inhumane lack of fear.  
_"_You," he pointed at Steve, "are crazy, do you know that? You need a therapist!"  
_"_I don't need a therapist, Danno." Steve laughed loudly, clearly amused at his partners anguish. "You, on the other hand..." Danny cut him off, raising a finger to silence his friend.  
_"_Oh no, my sanity is perfectly intact, thank you very much! I'm not the one that goes around shooting at things for fun, or blowing things up, or hanging guys from roofs, throwing them in shark cages, or tear gassing suspects in their own homes."  
_"_Do you think the coast is clear?" Steve nods towards the silent building.  
_"_I don't know, stick your head up and see if someone shoots at it." Danny drawled sarcastically. "Or even better, let's just sit here and wait for SWAT, like proper cops do."  
_"_Are you saying we're not proper cops?" Steve asked in mock offence.  
_"_Oh no, _I'm_ a proper cop. You? You're just a Navy SEAL with an equal mix of Mommy and Daddy issues."  
_"_That's mean, Danny." Steve grinned. "Let's go." He stood from behind his rock, crouching slightly.  
_"_You're crazy. Bonkers. Loony; all nine kinds." Danny peered up over his barrel, a glint of something catching his eye in one of the second storey windows. "Steve! Get down!" He yelled, as his body lunged across the gap and pounded into McGarrett's,knocking him from his feet. A crack echoed around them, and they both landed on the floor, Danny on top of Steve. A moment of eerie silence, and Steve expected Danny to roll off him, make a comment about saving McGarrett's life and getting his pants muddy again and another expensive dry cleaning bill, but he didn't move.  
_"_Gerroff." He huffed, the weight of Danny pressing hard on his chest. Then Steve was vaguely aware of warm drops on his face, and when he nudged Danny to get off, he didn't get a fight, or a jerk, or a snipped comment. Danny just rolled off of him, his body resembling a morbid rag doll. There was red, contrasting against sheet white skin and blonde hair, trailing down a motionless face.  
_"_Danny?" He shouted, grabbing hold of Danny's vest by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Danny!"_

* * *

"Steve?" Catherine speaks, shaking the arm of the trembling SEAL. "Steve, are you okay?" When she gets no answer. Steve comes back from his memories, opens his eyes and looks down at concerned ones. "I think you're going into shock."  
"I'm fine." He shakes his head, looks over at Chin. "Has the doctor been in yet?" Because he's not sure how long he's out, but Chin shakes his head no, his features looking as haunted as Steve feels. He looks out of the waiting room windows, sees the ER has calmed down from chaotic bustle to steady flow; nurses crowd the nurses station, filing paperwork and doctors hover around ipad's and good old fashioned x-ray machines. The temperature has dropped, the air feels cold on Steve's skin, and he stands up on shaky legs.  
"I'm going to ask if...when...about Danny." And then after knowing nods and comforting smiles, he steps out of the box room and heads for the group of doctor's in white lab coats.  
"Hey, excuse me?" He interrupts enthusiastic conversation, and four faces turn to look at him. "I'm here for...with Detective Williams." When the faces continue to look blank, "It's been over four hours, and we haven't heard..."  
"Commander McGarrett." A familiar voice sounds behind him, and Steve turns quickly to face the doctor he'd come to know a little to well, from Five-0's far too many ER visits.  
"Doctor Hope, I was just asking about Danny..." Steve starts to explain, but falters when he sees Doctor Hope's face twist into the same sympathetic expression he's worn too many times himself; one used when dealing with emotionally unstable or vulnerable people – victims or the family of.  
"Shall we go and take a seat?" The doctor asks, pointing towards the family waiting room where Catherine and Chin are watching through the glass. Steve nods slightly, because really he has no choice, and slowly returns to the room that felt no more than a prison.  
Catherine squeezes his hand gently when he resumes his position next to her, and Steve doesn't wait for the doctor to get comfortable on the couch next to Chin before asking the question that's been plaguing his mind since they stepped foot in the ER.  
"How is he, Doc? How's Danny?"  
"Detective Williams is in a critical condition." The doctor said gravely. "He's sustained a significant injury to the left side of his skull. The bullet itself has only grazed past the Detectives head, but has left behind an open wound, shattering parts of the skull, leaving fragments of bone to penetrate the left temporal lobe."  
"So, is he going to be okay? I mean, he's going to survive this, right?" Steve pressed, shifting to sit closer to the edge of his seat.  
"It's hard to say, there is no definitive answer right now. On a whole, only 5% of patients presenting with a gunshot wound to the head survive, and out of that 5%, only 2% are lucky enough to walk away with no lasting effects. Detective Williams is under the best Neurologist on the Island, though, and he's doing everything he can right now."  
"So what's the plan?" Catherine asked, removing her hands from Steve's and clasping them in front of her.  
"Right now, he's in surgery. Dr Nakesh, our neurologist, has performed a craniotomy – removed a large portion of Detective Will..."  
"Danny. Please, call him Danny." Steve interrupted.  
"...removed a large portion of _Danny's_ skull – to check for any internal haemorrhaging, and to remove as many fragments as possible without causing more damage." Doctor Hope continued. "When he's finished as best he can, he'll leave the skull fragment out and wrap Danny's head loosely, to allow for brain swelling. He'll then be left in a chemically induced coma for a few days to monitor his progress, and we'll proceed from there."  
"Best and worst case scenario?" Steve asks, because he needs to know.  
"Like I said before, Commander, there's no clear-cut answer. At best I can dare to offer you hope of a full recovery, with little to no side effects. Worst case, we're looking at severe memory loss, loss of vision, hearing, speech, any recognition of objects or people or places, or even death."  
"When can we see him?" Chin asks, noting Steve's paling complexion.  
"He's still in surgery, and may be for a few more hours yet. My advice is to go home, all of you, and get some rest. I promise to have one of my team to call you as soon as there's a change, for better or worse, in Detective..._Danny's_...condition."  
Chin nods, shakes the doctor's hand before he leaves the room, then exchanges a worried look with Catherine. Steve is pale, his breathing shallow, his body shaking.  
"Steve, we should go home." Catherine tries, but gets no response. Another glance in Chin's direction; his cue to try. He crouches in front of the SEAL, catches his attention.  
"C'mon, Steve. Time to go."  
Steve nods once, looks into the eyes of the Hawaiian native, knows he's right, and forces himself to stand.  
Catherine wraps her arm around Steve's waist, guides him to the exit, Chin in tow.  
"The Camaro..." Steve starts, because dammit, if he left it unattended, Danny would be pissed.  
"I drove it back from HPD earlier. It's been processed, and is out front. I'll follow you and Catherine home in it, and Malia can pick me up from your place."  
"Thanks Chin." Catherine smiles, because Steve just nods and continues to head for the exit.

* * *

They sit on the lanai for a long time, none of them talking, sipping beer and staring into space. Occasionally, one of them checks their cell phone in case they had a missed call from the hospital, or got up to fetch more beer, or just to stretch their legs.  
"I should call Kono. She'd want to be here." Chin finally says, pulling his phone from his pocket, and Steve jumps up.  
"No!" He shouts, shakes his head. "No, don't. We promised we wouldn't unless..." He tries, his voice lower.  
"But Steve..."  
"I said no, Chin. Danny is going to be okay. She doesn't need to come back for this." He orders, then runs his hand over his face. "Please." His eyes plead for the older man to understand.  
"Okay." He finally nods, hesitant. "But if things change..."  
"They wont."  
"But if they do..."  
"They wont." Steve says firmer, a promise. "But okay." Nods slightly. A soft horn disturbs the peace and quiet around them, and Chin stands.  
"That will be Malia, I'd better be going." He smiles gently, pats Steve's arm gently as he passes. "Call me if you hear anything."  
"I will do, buddy." Steve nods, before heading for one of the the wooden chairs on the soft sand.  
"I'll walk you out, Chin." Catherine smiles, taking his empty beer bottle from him, and placing it on the kitchen counter with hers as they pass through the house. "Thanks for being there for him today." She says as she opens the front door and Chin steps over the threshold. He turns back to face her. "Steve, that is."  
"It's only what we'd all do for each other." He smiles warmly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Watch out for him, Cath. He's coming straight out of shock and heading straight in to denial."  
"I know. He refused to call Danny's Mother earlier. If he doesn't do it tomorrow, I will." She nods, sadness pulling in her chest. "He's going to blame himself for a long time."  
"Yes, he will." Chin nods, before turning to leave again. "I'll see you tomorrow, Cath. Try and get some rest."  
"I'll try." She agrees, before closing the door, taking a deep breath to steady the overwhelming urge to break down and mourn the possibility of losing a member of her ohana, then heads for the second chair on the beach.


	2. Pain and Guilt

**Okay, so here's stage 2. Thank you for all reviews; I am trying to reply to them all but they mean a lot, so thanks for taking the time to leave them. I've left in the line breaks, which is sending my OCD crazy because it isn't all neatly set out...Ooops! **

**I've had a good day today, and I'm fairly certain I know where I want to take this story now.**

**This is based on a personal experience with grief, so I'm sorry if it's not what people expect and Steve seems out of character - grief can do that to you! But I'm hoping he'll be getting back to normal by the end of the story...**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**The 7 stages of grief**

**Stage 2**

**Pain and Guilt**

Steve watches Danny's body, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each_ whoosh_ of the ventilator forcing air into his lungs. His face is pale, almost as white as the sheets covering his still form, his lips dry and cracked, blue veins prominent below closed lids. Steve runs a calloused hand over his face, rough with stubble, and up through hair that's in need of a trim, then brings it back down to rub at sore, red eyes. He shifts slightly in the hard, plastic visitors chair that he's occupied for the past five days, tries to get more comfortable. His spare hand squeezes the cold, motionless hand he's been holding more often than not, willing, praying, that he'd _just squeeze back. _He stares at the bandage covering the majority of Danny's head, marked with 'NO BONE' in black marker, then lets his eyes fall to the yellowing bruise poking out from under the cover and spreading around Danny's left eye, and down to the blood stained gown covering the entrance site of a central hickman line, allowing several drugs to be administered at once.

The monitors connected to Danny don't tell Steve much, because he's not a doctor or nurse, and besides the extremely low blood pressure and inconsistent pulse, he's not entirely sure what the other numbers mean, only that the doctor's and nurses come in and shake their head when they see they haven't changed.

Steve sighs, stretches out his stiff back and struggles to compress the yawn. He's so tired, exhausted. He can't remember the last time he slept, _really slept_; because every time he closes his eyes, he's plagued with nightmares and memories. There is no reprieve from the mistake he's made that's cost Danny more than he could ever imagine. He leans forward, rests his head down on the bed next to Danny's thigh, keeps hold of Danny's hand, and dares to close his eyes, just for a second.

* * *

"_Danny?" Steve shook the detective lightly by the shoulders of his tac. vest. "Danny!" He held his breath, waiting for his partner to open his eyes, to start complaining about how much his head hurt, and how Steve would have to give him a whole days pay tomorrow when he stays home to recover. Nothing happened, and a new panic started to rise in Steve's chest. He leant forward, turned his face to feel shallow, wispy breathes against his cheek whilst fingers sought a pulse in the neck. Relieved to have found one, he pulls his phone from his pocked, dialled 911 and pressed the cold plastic to his ear. _

"_911, what's your emergency?" A calm, collected voice answered. Steve quickly rattled off his badge number, identifying himself, shouted 'officer down' and gave his location. After a promise of an ambulance being two minutes out and HPD backup less than a minute, he ended the call and dropped the phone by Danny's shoulder. He does a quick mental check of Danny's body; torso and vest untouched, limbs intact, head...red. There's so much blood, Steve isn't sure if it's a fatal wound or not; head wounds bled a lot regardless of severity. He glanced over the body one more time, eyes settled on the gun still in Danny's hand. Without hesitation he pulled it from the slack hold, flicked the safety back on and pushed it into the waistband on his cargo pants, then holstered his own at his hip._

_His hands shook; from fear or adrenaline he wasn't sure. _

_Steve yanked his vest off, followed by his outer shirt, not bothering to undo the buttons, and scrunched it up. He pressed it against Danny's head, the left side in general because there was so much blood he couldn't pinpoint one specific area, heaved when he felt skull crunch below his hand, and eased on the pressure a little._

* * *

"Steve?" A familiar voice, but Steve can't concentrate on it, because Danny's there, _right there_, and he needs to save him.

* * *

_He felt relieved to see the familiar white and blue van turn up, the medic jumping from the passenger side before it's even stopped. _

"_What do we have, Commander?" The paramedic, Jon, asked as he dropped to his knees by Danny's side, opposite Steve. Steve moved his eyes from the saturated fabric in his hand to the man before him, blinked against the blurring vision, struggled to find the right words. "Commander?" Jon prompted again as he dropped the medical bag that was tossed over his shoulder and the other medic crouched down next to Steve._

"_Right." Steve nodded, shock muddling his brain. "He's been hit. I tried to stop the bleeding, but...uh..."_

"_You're doing great, sweetheart." The female medic, Amy, smiled encouragingly. "Can I take a look?" She asked as she placed her hand over Steve's bloody one._

"_There's a lot of blood." Steve warned, because he needed her to understand, and part of him is unsure if he can face seeing it again._

"_That's okay." Amy nodded, her voice soothing, as she squeezed Steve's hand a little. "I need to see." Steve nodded stiffly as Amy moved his hand and the shirt herself, and Steve's quickly aware of red, lot's of red, shouting and nausea. Then Danny's being lifted onto the stretcher, loaded into the ambulance and Steve's close behind because he just can't leave him, the scene being left in the capable hands of HPD. Amy attached wires from the heart monitor to Danny's chest, put a catheter into the back of his hand to administer saline, and then they're moving; too fast for Steve's liking, not fast enough for Amy's._

* * *

"Steve? Wake up."

Steve wakes with a start, his forehead glistening with sweat, his breathing heavy. It takes a second for him to register his surroundings, get his bearings, and then the same overwhelming urge to break down crashes into him again. He's so absorbed in holding it together, he doesn't realise Chin is standing to the right of him until he speaks.

"Steve, are you okay?" Chin asks and, daring to peel his eyes away from his partner, looks up at Chin but doesn't really see him. One curt nod and then his attention is back on Danny. He squeezes his clammy hand once, but still, there's no response. "You should go and get some coffee." Chin continues to suggest, and Steve shakes his head slightly, too busy watching for signs of life. He doesn't stir until he feels the light pressure of a hand on his shoulder, then he traces his eyes from the tips of fingers, up a tanned arm, to set his eyes on his friend's face.

"Go and get a coffee." Chin tells him this time. Steve blinks, isn't even sure if he has enough energy to get up from the chair and walk down to the cafeteria on the next floor down. "I'll stay with him." Chin nods to Danny. Steve nods once, puts everything he has into pushing himself up, and his knees shake. Chin reaches out to steady him, but he holds his hand out to stop him. He pulls in a lungful of air, closes his eyes against the fatigue induced dizziness, until he's sure that his core has centred itself. When he opens his eyes, he sees Chin watching him, concerned, so he tries to smile; a sign meant to ease him, but he's sure it's more of a grimace. Without speaking another word, he forces one heavy foot forward, then when he doesn't stumble and fall, he pushes his other in front, and before he can change his mind and chicken out, he's left Danny's room, _left Danny_, for only the second time in five days, and is heading down the hallway.

His mind is numb, and he isn't really sure how he's moving, because if he really let himself think about it, think about where he was and why, he knows he'd collapse on the floor. He ignores the sympathetic glimpses of nurses, tear streaked faces of relatives of other patients, the dead eyes of the accepting ones. He pushes forward, his breath catching in his throat, because dammit, he knows where he is and any attempt at trying to forget, trying to pretend, is feeble and he just can't. He stops at a trash can, leans over it and dry heaves three, maybe four, times. Grey spots cloud his vision, and he can't breathe because it should be him. He should be here, and not Danny, because dammit, if Danny hadn't been such a fucking Labrador, he'd have taken the bullet instead. He breathes through the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him, the sobs that threaten to strangle him, and when he notices eyes of too many people watching him, he pushes away from the trash can and heads for the elevator at the end of the hall.

When the doors ping open, it takes a second for Steve to register the face he's looking at. She doesn't smile at him; her brow furrows, eyes narrow, lips contort. And then, when relief hits him so hard it winds him, she's at his side, arm wrapping around his waist and steadying him against her.

"Coffee?" Kono asks, and Steve nods, allows her to lead him into the elevator, almost misses the warmth of her body as she rests him against the rails so she can press the button. "You look rough, Boss." Steve doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know if he can, and just attempts to lift his mouth into something that might resemble a smile, but it doesn't stay long. He's relieved to see her – it's been over a year – but a part of him resents that she's had to come. Because if Kono is here, that means that Chin's called her home, and he promised not to do that unless a family member or a team member...

_Oh God. Danny._

Steve grips the railing hard, his knuckles turn white, and he takes deep breaths through his nose as he fights the attack of nausea again.

"You okay, Boss?" Kono asks, placing one hand on the middle of his back, the other on his arm, ready to take his weight if she needs to. "Steve?" When he doesn't answer.

The bile recedes, stops clawing at his restricting throat, and the need to collapse, give in, break down, subsides slightly, and he straightens up a little. A soft nod yes, eyes still fixed on the floor, because he doesn't want to look at her, look into more eyes that scream accusation; the same accusation he'd spent five days, sixteen hours and forty eight minutes torturing himself with; _It should have been him._

* * *

He sits at a table in front of the window whilst Kono deals with the barrister at the counter, because he needs something to look at other than her. His attention is held by two boys, teenagers, playing with a football on the green by the car lot. One has a blue cast covering his hand and forearm, and seems to be arguing with the taller, older kid who has the ball. Steve wonders if Danny and Matthew ever played, or argued over, a football. Or at least a football game. And then he feels guilty, because he still hasn't made the phone call to Danny's family, and not because he wants to keep it from them, but because Danny is his family, Ohana, too, and he wants to keep Danny alive, Danny as_ Danny_, for just a little longer, spare them from the pain of having a part of their world ripped away. And then an invisible blow to the gut as he remembers that it should have been him, and oh God, right now, he wishes it was.

* * *

_The doctors were already there when the ambulance came to stop outside the ER department. The doors were yanked open from the outside, and then Amy pushed past Steve, jumped out of the van so she could pull the stretcher out. Jon is there within a second or two, guiding the stretcher so she can climb back on top of Danny and resume compressions. Then they were on the move, crashing through double doors, as Jon relayed information to the waiting medical staff._

"_This is Detective Williams, 36 years old, GSW to the left lateral of the head. KO'd on arrival, pulse was weak and thready, respiratory rate of 3, so proceeded with CPAP. Patient was unresponsive, switched to tracheal intubation on board ambo. Vitals ran at 56/39 for BP before flat lining at sixteen thirty three, Amy's been doing chest compressions since but has been unsuccessful at regaining cardiac function." Jon ran off as they jogged along the corridor, the doctor holding on to the gurney absorbing as much information as possible._

"_How long ago was he shot?" The Doctor asked the medic, who hastily checked the time on his watch, before turning to look at Steve, covered in blood, following them. "You stay here!" He ordered him, before they disappeared behind another set of double doors._

* * *

Steve blinks past tears blurring his vision, his attention brought back to present as a cup of coffee, black, is put on the table in front of him. He looks up as Kono takes the seat opposite him, a coffee in her own hands. Neither say anything, neither need to, and right now Steve doesn't know where his voice is or if he ever wants to find it again.

"I missed the sun." Kono breaks the silence, closing her eyes and turning her face towards the window, smiles lightly as the Hawaiian rays warm her skin. "It's not the same in Canada." She explains, and when she doesn't get any sort of reply, she looks back at her boss. "How are you?" After a moment of studying him. Steve looks away, back out the window, and searches for the two boys. They're gone, not there, and he wonders who won the fight over the ball. "Chin told me what happened. You should have called sooner. I would have come sooner." She carries on when he doesn't answer her. "You can't blame yourself, Steve."

Steve looks back at her, really looks, and notices she wears more years than her age. Her eyes are deep and knowledgeable, having seen more crap than anyone should have to in a lifetime. Her brow seems to be furrowed permanently, set with months of worry and emotional trauma. Her mouth still smiles, but it's not the same, doesn't spread as wide and it never reaches her eyes. He doesn't miss how she self consciously angles herself towards the exit, months of being on the run setting habits Steve doesn't wish to think about.

"It's good to see you." She continues, before reaching across the table and pushing the coffee closer to Steve. "Drink up before it gets cold." She takes a sip from her own cup, screws her nose up in distaste. "It's not Starbucks, that's for sure." Steve mimics her, but doesn't really taste it as the hot liquid passes over his tongue and down his dry throat. He hadn't realised how thirsty, hungry, he was until the cup is empty and Kono is staring at him, disbelief masking her face.

"Another?" She offers, pushing her own towards him. He shakes his head no, but she smiles and edges it closer still, so he caves in and downs hers too. She leans back in the seat, folds her arms across her chest, resumes studying him. He feels a little uncomfortable, but that doesn't matter, because he figures he deserves that accusing glare to be on him. He peers into the empty cup, grief and regret overwhelming him. He'd messed up, he gets that, and there's no way to fix this. He'd let Danny down, hadn't listened to him, had trusted his SEAL training over his partner, and now he's here, losing his best friend, brother, and he has no one but himself to blame. "It's not your fault." She says, barely above a whisper, strangled with grief, and when Steve eventually looks up to meet her eyes, they're filled with tears threatening to spill over. "He was a cop through and through. He'd have done the same." Steve shakes his head, because he _wouldn't_ have done the same, because he was Danno; he would have done things by the book, he would have _waited_. "Did they catch the guy that..uh..." She clears her throat against thick emotion, and Steve looks down, giving her all the answer she needs. "That's okay, because I'm back now, so we'll catch him." Sounding a little more determined. "Right, Boss?"

He just doesn't have it in him to lie to her, so he doesn't respond, continues to stare into the empty coffee cup.

* * *

They head back to the ICU in silence, Steve's hands buried in his pants pockets – not cargo because he'd sworn never to wear another pair unless Danny himself gives him permission – eyes fixed on the floor and shoulders hunched. He can feel Kono's presence next to him, doesn't argue when she laces her arm through his and holds tight. It's too easy to forget that she hasn't seen Danny yet, that this is all new to her, and Steve feels regret again. She shouldn't be here, should be in Canada with Adam, but no, McGarrett had to be McGarrett and get their friend put in ICU. A shot of pain shoots through his chest, because he blames himself and always will. He'd thrown away everything; Danny's life, future with Grace, hope of love and happiness. He should have waited.

The world around him is a buzz of people talking, sobbing, machines beeping and whirring, ventilators _woosh_ing and _shoop_ing and he can't breathe again. His feet falter, his legs shake and before he has chance to stop himself, or care, he's falling to his knees, his chest compressing and restricting, air struggling to enter his body. He wheezes, grabs his throat, wonders if this is justice. His head pounds, his vision blurs and grey spots pass before him.

"Breathe, Steve." A voice, somewhere seemingly far away, speaks. "With me, in and out. Nice and slow." The voice continues, and he can feel something, someone, lifting his chin with warm fingers. His eyes find her, looking into those deep browns, tries to focus on the words leaving her lips. "In." A deep inhale. "And out." She breathes out slowly. "In." Another deep inhale. "And out." Steve tries to copy her, in and out, pulls the thick air into his lungs, forces it past his throat, tries not to give in to the panic trying to shove itself to the surface. Slowly, it gets easier. "There you go." She smiles as his breathing returns to normal. "Better?"

Steve nods, and his attention is pulled to a flashing light behind Kono, and nurses rushing towards a familiar door. Kono looks confused for a split of a second, and then follows Steve's line of sight, witnesses the same thing. "Come on." She says, pulling herself to her feet, and then Steve, before towing him, running, to the room Steve had moved into over the past few days.

Nothing makes sense. Chin is standing back, arms crossed, when he should be fighting them off of him, off of Danny. Steve doesn't understand, the buzz around him is chaotic, and people are there, pulling and poking at Danny, _his Danny_, and it's not right. When one of the nurses pulls the ventilator pipe from the intubation tube, and then removes the tube itself, anger stirs in Steve and he lurches forward. He's not ready, not yet. Danny can't breathe without that.

_Danny can't breathe_.


	3. Anger and Bargaining

**AN: Hey guys! Sorry this is a short one, I haven't had a lot of time today. My LG is teething and being very clingy, and only really got a chance to tap this out quickly whilst she snoozes! I'm going to try and start on chapter 4 tonight, but if not will try and squeeze it in tomorrow. Then we're halfway there! **

**Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm trying to reply to them all!**

**Hope you enjoy this one!**

* * *

**The 7 stages of Grief**

**Stage 3**

**Anger and Bargaining**

Steve's angry, and whilst he knows it can't last forever, he can't see it simmering down any time soon. It was stupid,_ so stupid_, of Danny to think it acceptable to put his life on the line, risk everything, for someone as inadequate as Steve. Always so desperate to prove that he's no SEAL, but he's a damn good cop and just as capable, just as strong, as Steve. But Danny will never understand, because he has family, he has Grace, and that's more than anyone could ever want. Steve has an undead Mother and an accident prone sister starting her own family several thousand miles away, and he's alone, grenades and sniper rifles, shotguns and pistols, his only constant.

Steve takes in a deep breath, tries to calm the rising fire in his belly, brushes his hand over his hair, scratches at his scalp. Starts to pace at the foot of Danny's bed, watches him sleep. If it wasn't for the oxygen mask covering half of his face, the four bags of fluid connected to the line in his chest, the morphine pump connected to a new cannula in the crook of his arm, the constant beeping of the heart machine and leads leading to Danny's bandaged head, he could probably ignore the fact that he was unconscious and still rant at him. Even if Danny can't hear him, it would make Steve feel better.

He stops, opens his mouth to shout, release his frustrations, and then closes it again. Who is he kidding? It's his fault his partner is here right now, fighting for his life in more ways than one, and even if he did manage to force words passed his lips, what was he going to say? Sorry for being so stubborn, for not listening to him, for being the adrenaline junkie jerk he's always been and putting Danny's life in danger, _again_? No, that is on him, not Danny, and if Steve has to carry the weight of that around with him forever, then he will. Just as long as Danny pulls through this.

He circles around the bed, takes a seat in the same chair he's spent too many hours sitting in, glances at the monitors for the hundredth time today, a sigh of relief when he sees the stats aren't dropping. Just another three hours to get through until his surgery, and then, Steve decides, he can stop fretting so much. _Just three more hours, Danno._

It has been two days since the intubation incident – something that Kono and Chin don't mention around Steve, and he knows it's because they're embarrassed; not _by_ him,_ for_ him. He'd lost control, acted like the animal Danny has told him he is more times than he can count on his hands. Danny had roused somewhere between consciousness and sleep; fought the intubation tube but hadn't opened his eyes. Doctors had tried to calm him, ordered more drugs to put him back under, but Danny's a fighter, and even as the drugs took hold, his lungs still convulsed as he tried to draw in breath himself. Steve had walked in shortly after the doctor had given the order; remove the tube, ditch the ventilator, and completely zoned out on everything except the nurse removing the intubation on a very still Danny. He'd flipped, because they hadn't made _that_ decision yet, were nowhere near having too, because his Danny was going to pull through. He lunged at the nurse, tried to pull her away from his partner, but Chin and Kono were there, grabbing him, holding him back whilst he bucked and pulled, kicked and shoved, trying to get to Danny, to _save_ Danny. Eventually, even with the fresh caffeine surging in his system, he had ran out of energy and the tube had gone, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, buried his head in his hands, and stayed that way until the chaotic buzz died down and it was just the FIVE-0 team and Dr Nakesh in the room. He'd looked up to educated eyes, watched moving lips, didn't hear anything other than 'he's okay' and 'breathing himself'. He had finally broken down in tears, and Kono had held him until he fell into a fitful sleep.

"Please, Danny." Steve begs the sleeping detective. "You have to get better, for Gracie." He doesn't get an answer, not that he expects one. "Dammit, Daniel!" Steve erupts, slams both hands on the bar at the foot of the bed, grips it so tight his knuckles turn white. "Are you listening to me? You have to pull through!" Something stirs inside of him, an emotion he hasn't felt since the day he heard his Father being murdered. Frustration is itching at his skin, his hands grip even tighter and his teeth grind together. This isn't fair. Danny should be here with Steve, ranting about pineapples, garlic shrimp and raw tuna, loafers and flip-flops that the Hawaiians call slippers, surfing and fishing and all other ocean related activities. Or, even better, discussing the reason why pizza should only ever be served with fresh mootz, tomato sauce and occasionally, _only occasionally,_ a couple slices of pepperoni.

"This isn't fair." He says to the still body. "You shouldn't have jumped in to save me, Danny. I mean, c'mon man, you have Grace to think about!" Steve takes a deep breath because he's starting to feel hot and agitated. "The bullet would have hit my shoulder, you moron." He continues, starts to feel a little better. "But no, short stuff here had to play the hero. Well, you know what, Danny? There's a reason it's always me that does the stupid stuff – so you don't have to!" Voice raises slightly. "I'm not the one that has to risk sending his best friend to go and tell a little girl that 'Daddy isn't gonna make it home tonight'! But no, that didn't cross your mind, did it genius, as you jumped in the way of an incoming bullet. Feel proud now, do you? Because look at where it's landed you!" Steve takes a deep breath, tries to clear the lump forming in his throat, slow his hammering heart, but Danny's lack of response angers him further, because it should have been him.

"You know what?! You are a hypocrite!" Steve fumes, releasing the bed from his grip, starts to pace again. "Always nagging about me diving in head first! You've just done exactly the same!" He wipes at the salty water blurring his vision. "Did you feel the need to prove something? To prove that you could be just as tough as me? I'm a SEAL, God-dammit!" His hands ball into fists at his side, his voice shakes with his body. "Oh, now you decide to be quiet?" He spits sarcastically. "You're infuriating!" He shouts, pointing his finger at the detective. "Will you please just wake up! Just say something in that ridiculous Jersey accent of yours!" Steve continues, stands, panting, staring at Danny, because even though it's not going to come, he's waiting for a response; a typical Danny response that takes almost a century just to get to the point, comes in a loud, agitated voice, and is accompanied by even louder hands. "Please?" Steve resorts to begging, desperate, a fresh tear falling from his eye, but he wipes it away quickly with the back of his hand. "I will do anything right now, just please." He tilts his head back, looks past the ceiling, talking to whoever has the power to change events and make this right. "Please just bring him back." Feels deflated. "I will do anything. _Just please_." The increased beep of the heart monitor draws Steve's attention, and his throat constricts for a second. And then he realizes that the beeping isn't dropping, returning to what it was before, and he smiles. Because Danny has heard him, he's fighting, and he's going to be okay.

* * *

Catherine visits alone, and Steve doesn't have a chance to ask why, because she offers an explanation as soon as she sees the question in his eyes.

"Chin and Kono are following up on a lead." She pulls a spare chair to the opposite side of the bed, holds Danny's warming hand but watches Steve. "HPD called with an address they think the suspect is hiding out at."

"Why aren't you with them?" Steve asks, because FIVE-0 can't afford to have three members down.

"They can handle it for now." She smiles, before looking at the monitors. "How is he doing? It looks good."

"He's stabilized." Steve nods, his voice hoarse from dehydration and his previous outburst. "Doctor Nakesh is going to do the surgery today. He says the brain is almost back to normal size, and his heart seems strong enough to take another round of anesthetic."

"That's great." Catherine beams, squeezes Danny's hand as if he can hear her. "He's been incredibly lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." Steve snarls, the fire in his belly reigniting. "He's been shot in the head! He's been in a coma for over a week! Part of his skull has been removed!"

"But he's getting better." Catherine replies, keeping her voice level, tries not to flinch at the wild look in Steve's eyes. "That counts for something."

"He wouldn't have to get better if it never happened in the first place!" Steve roars, shoving back in his chair, rubbing his face with his trembling hands. "And to make it worse, the guy that did this is still out there, because _you_ haven't caught him yet!" He jabs a finger in Catherine's direction.

"Well, maybe if you came and helped us out, we'd be a bit closer to getting him!" Catherine snaps back, can't keep the tears from falling from her eyes, because even though she knows he doesn't mean the words, that he's not really personally blaming her, it hurts all the same.

"What? Just leave Danny alone?" Steve asks, taken aback, because that just isn't an option.

"Danny wouldn't be alone if you'd called his family. Or at least let me do it." Catherine points out, stands up, ready to leave.

"I can't do that. They don't need to know." Steve almost whispers, deflated, as he sinks back in his chair.

"Of course they don't." She snorts sarcastically.

"You have a tone." Steve decides, looks from Catherine to Danny. "That's Danny's thing; he has tones and I, apparently, have faces."

"Look, Steve, this isn't your responsibility. Danny has a family, people that love him, that need to know what has happened. Grace thinks he's on vacation!"

"Isn't that better than the reality?" Steve asks innocently, and Catherine doesn't doubt the question is genuine.

"No Steve, it's not better, because it's not the truth." She replies, her heart falling heavy at the broken expression on his Steve's face. "And we need you; Me, Chin and Kono. We're already a detective down, FIVE-0 can't afford to have you sit this one out, too. You need to step up for Danny. You need to catch this guy and put him behind bars."

Steve sighs, because he knows she's right, knows he needs to catch this son of a bitch and make him pay. He runs a hand over his stubble, sighs again and stares at Danny for a moment before looking back at Catherine.

"Okay." He eventually nods. "I'll make the call. After the surgery, I'll call his Mom."

"And Grace?" Catherine prompts.

"And Grace."

He doesn't watch as Catherine leaves, keeps his attention focused on flicking from Danny to the monitors and back again. Stays that way until doctor Nakesh arrives with a handful of nurses, ready to take Danny down to the OR.


	4. Depression, Reflection and Loneliness

**AN: Sorry this one took a bit longer to do, I needed to do it right. Thanks for the reviews, again! I love reading them! Hopefully you'll enjoy this next installment, and only 3 left to do!**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

**The 7 stages of Grief**

**Stage 4**

**Depression, Reflection and Loneliness**

Making the call to Danny's parents was one of the hardest things Steve has ever had to do; even compared to classified missions that involved going days without eating, or being shot at by a group of armed rebels in a foreign country, or laying out for days gathering intel on threats to national security. Calling Danny's Mom, Steve decides, was even harder than attending funerals of fallen servicemen, seeing families that would never get closure because their son's, or father's, or brother's last waking moments, last breathed words, last resided location, was classified. But the hardest thing of all, the one he'll never forget, was telling Grace that her daddy had been hurt by a bad man, and even though she really wants to go and see him, he's too weak for visitors right now and she needs to be strong for her Danno. She had nodded, despite sobbing uncontrollably, and threw her arms around Steve's neck, holding on for dear life. After several long minutes, a tearful Rachel had to physically pry her daughter from Steve, and proceeded to close the door in his face.

Catherine had been sitting in the truck, watching the exchange, with a heavy heart. Danny's parents had flown into Hawaii as soon Steve had placed the call, had promptly kicked them from the hospital room the second they had got there, and to be honest, Catherine couldn't blame them.

She should have called them sooner, should have ignored Steve's pleas and placed the call herself, would forever feel guilty for concealing their sons injury.

"She hates me." Steve grumbles as he slides in behind the wheel of his Silverado.

"She doesn't." Catherine shakes her head, because she doesn't believe Grace is even capable of hating someone, let alone her Uncle Steve.

"She does. I've just told her that her Danno is in hospital because he got hurt protecting me, and now she hates me." Steve rubs at red eyes. "I shouldn't have told her."

"You did the right thing." Catherine reaches across, squeezes his knee gently. "She needed to know."

"This is just all so messed up." Steve sighs as he turns the key in the ignition and puts the truck into 'drive'.

"Let's just go home." Catherine suggests as she closes her eyes and turns her face towards the last warm rays of the setting sun.

"I'll drop you home. I have something I need to do." Steve says as he pulls away from the curb outside Rachel's house. Catherine doesn't make a comment, because for the first time in what felt like forever, Steve wasn't choosing to hide behind ventilators and heart monitors.

* * *

He feels slightly drunk, probably had one too many maitai's at the small bar he'd found on the beach after hours of walking up and down the shoreline. His mind is fuzzy, his cheeks feel flushed, and he can't quite recall the journey from the bar to Headquarters, or where he's left the truck. He stands, peering through the glass doors, notices how everything looks the same as when he'd last been here, minus the constant bustle of people and the loud hum of chatter. He shivers against the uncharacteristically cool air, rubs at the goosebumps raising on his arms in an attempt to make them retreat. He places a hand on the cool, chrome door handle, pushes the door open, places one foot over the threshold and stops. He's not sure he can go through with it, step back into the last place he and Danny had laughed and joked, teased and argued. He remembers Danny complaining about his new neighbour cooking fish all day long, so his apartment stank of it by the time he got home in the evenings, and then remembers telling Danny that there's no law against cooking fish during the day, or at any time for that matter, and he either had to just get over it, buy some air freshener or move. Again. Danny had then said that he'd have to get a few air fresheners, and send the bill to Step-Stan, because if it wasn't for him, they'd all still be living in New Jersey and the only smells festering in his apartment would have been that of stale cheeto's, old pizza and spilt beer. Steve had laughed, and Danny had then proceeded to change the subject, started to boast about Grace's new found ability to actually hit the ball when batting in baseball. And when that subject had worn out, he'd turned on Steve and his cargo pants.

"_It's kind of ironic, don't you think, that Mary was the one that turned out to be all responsible and mature out of the two of you?" Danny started when he realized Steve wasn't about to agree with him that cargo pants had far too many pockets, which is in fact more of a hindrance than a help._

"_I'm responsible!" Steve defended as he perched on the edge of Danny's desk. Danny smirked, leant back in his desk chair to get a better look at McGarrett._

"_Nope, not compared to Mary. Not any more." He shook his head, took pleasure in the frown creasing Steve's forehead. "She has a baby, and a house, and everything. You? You have an assortment of grenades in the glove compartment of _my_ car."_

"_I'm more responsible than Mary." Steve snorted. "And more mature." _

"_Only by years, my friend." Danny teased. "Y'know, I always thought you'd beat her in the 'family' department. I mean, she's been in a long term relationship with herself, and you've been in a long term relationship with Cath. The odds were stacked in your favor, Steven, considering that you have a girlfriend, the McGarrett house and all that jazz." _

"_Catherine isn't my girlfriend." Steve corrected quickly. "We just have a 'thing'." Casually shrugged one shoulder. _

"_Oh no, babe, you don't 'just have a thing'." Danny wagged his finger at Steve, a grin spreading on his face at Steve's narrowed eyes. "If a 'thing' lasts longer than six months, involves living together, separate toothbrushes and frequent sex, then it's absolutely a full blown girlfriend-boyfriend relationship." Steve looked annoyed and Danny struggled to hold back the snigger in his throat. "Why don't you just admit that you and Catherine are in it for the long haul? I can picture the both of you with an infant in camo." He continued to tease._

"_I...well...I..." Steve stuttered, and Danny laughed out loud. "Stop laughing." Steve grumbled, as his cell started to vibrate in his pocket. _

"_I'm sorry, babe" Danny chuckled, took a deep breath to try and calm himself and held his hands up in surrender. Steve rolled his eyes, answered the phone when he saw 'CHIN HO KELLY' flash on the caller ID. _

"_McGarrett." Danny's face sobered as Steve's brow furrowed, giving that determined, scary SEAL look. Before he'd even ended the call, Danny had pulled open his desk drawer and started to fasten the holster and gun to his hip. "Vest up." Steve ordered anyway as he stood up and pushed his phone back in his pocket. "Chin's got us a lead. We're going to hit the old Sugar plantation." _

"_Let's go." Danny nodded, standing up and clipping the golden FIVE-0 badge to his belt. _

Steve isn't sure how long he's been standing there, door still open, one foot in front of the other, when he comes back from his reverie. He moves forward, any previous hesitation forgotten, heads for the smart table that someone had left on. His eyes take a minute to adjust as he concentrates on the screen in front of him, leans on the Smart Table for support, because even though he's not _that_ drunk, he can't remember the last time he's eaten or slept, and he's absolutely exhausted.

The facial recognition software is sifting through thousands of snapshots, measuring standard facial features against an unclear shot of a face that's been snapped from crappy camera footage. He doesn't recognise the eyes, nose, mouth; it's a complete stranger to him, and he wonders how someone who's never even met Danny could shoot at him, judge him, just because he wears a badge and carries a firearm. Nausea swirls in the pit of his stomach; from the alcohol or remembering the incident, he's not sure. He pushes away from the table, heads for his dark office, limbs feeling heavy, head cloudy and eyes burn. He doesn't turn on his desk lamp, doesn't even bother to close the office door behind him, before he collapses on the leather couch and kicks his shoes and socks off. He closes his eyes, memories plaguing him almost instantly.

"_I know that face from somewhere." Danny mumbled to himself as he flicked through photo's on the tablet in his hand._

"_Ex girlfriend?" Steve offers, and Danny shoots him an annoyed expression. _

"_Unlike you, sailor boy, I remember all of my...indiscretions." Danny retorted, then sighed and tossed the tablet onto the dash of the Camaro. "Can you slow down, please?"_

"_I'm not breaking the limit." Steve replied, not easing off the gas._

"_Yeah, the limit of the highway, which we are not on, so slow down." Danny replied, hands waving in the air. _

"_This car is designed for driving fast." Steve grinned at him, pressing a little harder on the accelerator and weaving in and out of traffic._

"_You are the reason I go through fifty thousand tires a year. Do you know what? Do what you like, Steven, because when we get a puncture, or you wrap us around a palm tree, or the engine blows up, I'm going to send you the repair bill, plus medical expenses. And if you do not pay that, I am going to sue your sorry ass for everything you have." _

"_You wouldn't sue me." Steve says confidently. _

"_Yes, yes I would." Danny nodded, index finger in the air. "Wait, that's it. She's a lawyer, defended a few drug smugglers we helped catch." Danny grabbed the tablet again to double check the picture of the Asian woman in a black suit. "Yep, definitely her."_

"_You think she's our perp?" Steve asked, hopeful."That she's the one smuggling snow into Hawaii?"_

"_I'd bet the Camaro's life on it." Danny nodded. Steve smiled as he pressed harder still on the gas pedal, and Danny braced himself against the dash and gripped the holy-crap handle._

Steve wakes with a start, breathing heavy and sweating profusely. He doesn't remember the nightmare, nor does he wish to. He doesn't move, stays curled in a ball on the couch, to damned afraid to move, just in case he falls apart. There's a hollow feeling in his chest, his core, and the air is thick, hard to force down his throat. He craves the hearty laugh, the stupid jersey accent and the steady hand on his shoulder that Danny offered when nothing was going right and everything was going wrong. Nobody understands, and he doesn't blame them because he's not entirely sure he does either. He just knows that they work together, in partnership and in life; they had somehow grown from waving guns at each other in his garage, to becoming brothers, best friends, waving spanners and throwing oily rags at each other in his garage, instead. He misses the incandescent personality of the man that can both infuriate and humour him at the same time. Misses the way Danny rants about the way Steve doesn't follow proper police procedure, but declares to have his back in the same breath, or complains about the lack of backup but charges in guns blazing with his partner anyway, the way he grumbles about Steve always driving his Camaro but hands the keys over to him before he can even be asked for them. Danny Williams was, and always will be, an amalgamation of contradictions.

Steve smiles as he recalls the first time Danny had promised to stick around. He'd been ranting and raving about Steve's inability to follow basic law enforcement procedure, his lack of restraint, and in the same breath; 'We are partners. So if you are going to be the shoot first and ask questions later type of guy, I would at least like to be consulted, so I know when to duck!" And that was all that Steve needed to hear, because that was as good as any promise that he would be sticking around, and for Steve, that was good enough.

The pressure on Steve's chest intensifies, and he draws his knees closer to his chest, squeezes his eyes closed to prevent tears from falling, because if Danny could see him right now, he'd be laughing. But Danny's not here, and he's all alone, the eerie silence a constant reminder of the fact, and no matter how many times Catherine, Chin or Kono tried to offer him comfort, they'd never be the blonde haired goof that knew exactly what to say when he needed cheering up.

He glances at his watch, sees it's after 1am, pushes himself to sit up and rubs a rough hand over his stressed face. Catherine will be worried, he decides, and wonders if she has managed to wait up for him or if she's gone to bed without him. He rubs his eyes again in an attempt to clear his blurring vision, and looks up across the bullpen, gaze falling on the gold letters that spelt 'Detective Williams'. He smiles, because he can remember Danny insisting that if he was getting his own office, he was getting his name put on the door, window, wall, _somewhere. _Steve can't remember agreeing to it, but he's glad that Danny did it anyway, and silently vows to never remove the lettering. Ever.

Something catches his attention; a shuffle and a bump. He springs to his feet, edges closer to the open office door, listens harder. Another scuffle is heard in one of the back offices, and Steve edges forwards, crouching slightly.

"Hello?" He calls out, slightly hushed because it's so quiet, he doesn't need to shout. "Five-0!" He identifies when he hears another shuffle. He proceeds cautiously, one barefoot in front of the other, until he stops outside of Catherine's office. The blinds are down, shuttered closed, and he can't get a visual. His hand reaches for the absent gun at his hip, and he silently curses for leaving it in his trucks glove compartment. Another sound, and he decides he's just as competent at hand to hand as shooting a gun. He reaches forwards, wraps his fingers around the door handle, counts down...three, two, one...yanks open the door and launches himself into the room.

It takes a second or two for him to process what he's seeing; the figure has her back to him, singing softly out of tune, shuffling papers around on the desk. The floor is covered with sheets of paper, books splayed open on dog-eared pages, pens and pencils scattered. He relaxes his stance, reaches forward and taps her one the shoulder.

"Argh!" Catherine screams, spinning around and ripping earphones from her ears. "Steve?! Don't creep up on me like that!"

"Cath?" He's surprised, expected her to be home. "What are you doing here?" Looks her over; she's wearing sweats, his old Navy vest top, her hair is dishevelled.

"What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here?!" She reflects the question, pushing wild hair from her face.

"I was asleep in my office." He offhandedly replies, not wanting to tell her he's been drinking. "What is all of this?" Waves his hand at the mess.

"Oh, I didn't see you. It was all in darkness, so I assumed it was empty." She says, putting the stack of papers in her hands down on the desk. "I couldn't sleep." She answers his first question. Steve leans forward, picks up a file from her desk, opens it to read the title; 'Decompressive Craniectomy.' He looks back up at wide, worried eyes.

"You weren't supposed to see any of this." She says, crouching down and starting to collect together the mess on the floor. "I just wanted to make sure we had all of the facts. That he was getting the best."

Steve's lost for words, because there's nothing he can say that will make this easier. He's been pushing Catherine away, determined that she didn't understand, that Danny was just a co-worker, because he wasn't her partner. He'd failed to see how he was still her friend, her ohana too, and whilst he was busying feeling sorry for himself, she was here, trying to find a fix. He swallows against the tears gathering thick and hot at the back of his throat, pushes the sob back down inside, eventually finds his voice.

"Mahalo." He says, sounding hoarse from raw emotion. "He'd really appreciate this."

Catherine straightens back up, puts the collection on her desk, takes the file from Steve's hand and put it with the rest.

"He's ohana." She smiles softly, no other explanation needed.

"I'm sorry." He chokes, because he's sorry for so many damn things, he's not sure if he has enough time to sum them all up.

"Hey, it's okay." She soothes, reaching up and cradling his face in her hands, forces him to look at her. "It's okay." She repeats firmly, and he wraps his hands around her waist, pulls her towards him, closing the small gap between them. She reaches up on tippy toes, brushes her lips softly against his, and rocks back onto her heels.

Almost immediately, Steve misses the closeness, the promise of feeling something other than despair and pain, depression and anxiety. Needs to feel her close again, remind him that he's still here, still alive and not alone, that he's living and breathing and fighting for Danny.

His mouth meets her furiously, lips crashing together, his hands trailing from her hips, over ribs, breasts, across the collarbone, knotting in her hair. He doesn't miss her trembling at his touch, uses his teeth to tug at her lower lip gently, elicits a soft moan as she grants his tongue access. His heart pounds, lust and passion driving his body. She places her hands on his chest, pushes him back, away from her, eyes dark with desire. The new space between them is too far, too cold, and he craves her body, her touch, her warmth.

"Steve..." She starts, trying to sound reason, but he's desperate to feel alive, free, anything but what he has been feeling, and she's his safety, his ticket to a temporary reprieve.

"Please, Cath." He begs softly, his lips trailing kisses along her cheekbone as he pulls her back into him. He feels her resolve slipping as she snakes her arms around his neck, gently tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Okay." She breathes, because he has too much control over her, and that's just the way she likes it. His mouth meets hers, hot and fierce, and she starts to fiddle with his shirt buttons, hurries to undo them. He gently tugs her head to the side by her hair, brings his mouth to her neck; licks, nips and teases the sensitive skin.

"Steve." She gasps, her fingers getting clumsy as he runs a hand under the vest she's wearing, up her back, sending shivers up her spine. It's one word, but it stirs something deep inside of him, something he hasn't felt for a long time, and he yanks the vest over her head, discards it on the floor before cradling her face and bringing her mouth back to his, hungrily. He lets her slide his shirt over his shoulders, dropping it to the floor, her hands sending electrical pulses everywhere she touches, strokes, and his breath hitches slightly as her fingers run gently down his torso and play teasingly at the waist band of his pants. He growls softly, trails his wet mouth down her cheek, and works along her jawline, teeth grazing delicate skin.

She whimpers, knots her hands in his hair, arches her body into him.

Overcome with fierce lust and fiery passion, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. Long, brown hair falls around them like a curtain, brushing softly against his bare shoulders, shutting everything but them out. She brings her red, swollen lips back down to his, and he moans, steps backwards and lowers her gently onto the couch. He hooks his fingers into the waist band of her sweats and the black, lacy panties, slides them down her bronze legs, leaving a trail of kisses, moves quicker when she gasps as teeth skim the inside of her thigh. Watches her remove her bra seductively, biting her lip, looking up at him through thick lashes.

He swiftly unhooks his pants button, allows them to slide to the floor along with his boxers, and moves on top of the her, sliding between her legs. He targets her neck, brushes his lips over her soft skin, down to her shoulder, across her collar bone, and down to her chest. Her hands explore his warming body as she writhes and shifts below him, only adding to his arousal.

"Steve please..." She begs, her breath hitching in her throat as he allows one hand to trace a pattern over her right breast, over each individual rib and then across her flat stomach, whilst he uses the other to hold himself over her. Her husky plea provokes a soft growl, and as his lips come colliding back to hers, as he allows himself to get completely lost in her.

* * *

They stay on the couch, unmoving, both completely spent. Neither speak, neither have to, because there's nothing to say. Steve allows his eyes to close as Catherine snuggles closer into him to stop her from falling off of the edge. He chooses to ignore the vibrating to begin with, too exhausted to move, too desperate to get some sleep, but Catherine nudges him, pulls herself up and starts to pull on her clothes.

"Answer your phone, Steve." She orders, handing it to him without glancing at the caller ID. "Then let's go home to bed."

He takes the cell from her hands, sits up and answers it as she tosses his pants and shirt at him.

"McGarrett." He answers, his voice full of sleep. His eyes widen, his breathing stops and then he says "I'll be right there. Yes, Mrs Williams, I'll bring the others too." When he hangs up, he looks at Catherine with wide eyes.

"Well?" She prompts when he doesn't immediately tell her.

"We need to go and get Chin and Kono. Danny's awake."

* * *

**AN: Okay, so as you've probably guessed, this isn't going to be a death fic. I just don't think I have it in me to kill off Danno! Still undecided on what side effects there will be, because let's be honest, you can't just walk away from this with _nothing_! Or can you?**

**Also, that little scene with Steve and Catherine; I was so unsure about putting it in there, mainly because I didn't want this story to be sleazy or rated M or anything, but I think feeling alive is very important when you're grieving; some have sex, some jump off cliffs...And well, Catherine was just _there_...!**

**Please review!**


	5. The Upward Turn pt1

**AN: Okay, so I received some devastating news on Friday night, in the early hours of the morning, which is why I haven't published over the weekend. This is just a short installment I've tapped out because I can't just leave things unfinished, but it's not a completed chapter. I'll be uploading Stage 5 in two parts, this is part 1. I'm sorry it's so short. **

**I hope you enjoy it, and apologies for it not being my best work. **

* * *

**The 7 stages of grief**

**Stage 5**

**The upward turn - Pt1**

The four of them find themselves back in ICU, waiting, pacing, sighing. It's a little after six in the morning, they're all sleep deprived, but the cousins didn't hesitate to get out of bed when Steve had called and told them Danny was awake.

Steve paces up and down, Kono paces down and up, and they pass each other in front of the closed door, neither acknowledging each other, only that the door remains firmly shut. Catherine stands at the large window, skin glowing in the early morning sun, bouncing on tip toes. Ties her hair up, let's it loose. Ties it up again. Chin remains seated, his eyes closed, head tipped backwards, resting against the wall, breathing slowly and calmly. To a passer-by, he's asleep, but the FIVE-0 team knows better.

"What's taking so long?" Kono mutters to herself, but three pairs of eyes look at her.

"We can't rush him." Steve replies, passing her for the twentieth time.

"I can't believe he's awake already." Catherine joins in, stops bouncing, her calves aching slightly.

"That's got to be a good sign, right?" Kono voices, her tone a pitch higher; hope. Nobody speaks, not wanting to jinx it, regardless of whether they believe in a higher power or not.

The door creaks as it opens, Steve and Kono stop pacing, Chin stands, Catherine steps forward, and Danny's Mom and Dad step into the hallway. A moment passes in awkward silence. Steve still hasn't forgotten the fury in Mr William's eyes, the betrayal in Mrs Williams face, when they'd arrived at the hospital for the first time He had shouted, she had sobbed, and then they were both yelling at Steve, banning him from the hospital room, slamming the door behind him as he left.

"How is he?" He speaks up for the group, clearing his throat. He doesn't miss the nervous glance between the parents before they look back at him.

"Maybe you should see for yourself." Mrs Williams offers, stepping away from the door. The four friends take a step towards the ICU room, but Danny's Father holds an arm out to block their path.

"Just two at a time." He suggests, eyeing Steve and Catherine, Chin and Kono. They all look at each other, Chin takes a step back, gently leads Kono away by her arm.

"You two go first. We can wait." He smiles, and Steve's unsure. Danny means just as much to them as him and Catherine, but there's a nudge in his lower back and Catherine is urging him forward.

"Thank you." Steve says to all of them; the cousins for picking him, the Williams' for letting him be here full stop.

**H50**

Awareness is an ability to perceive, an unconscious series of actions, a subjective reaction to a specific current event or condition. Black fog turns to dreams, dreams to perception. The unfamiliar touch of hands move from his shoulder to his hand, a feeling he knows his body has become accustomed to. Loved ones slip from his dreams, with no intention of returning, and then he's aware that his eyes are open, and he's seeing what reality really is; white tiled ceiling, too many computer screens to look at at once, white walls with neglected, chipped paint, a curtained window. An unfamiliar face is above him, eyes creased, brow furrowed, and Danny knows it's the owner of than hands he's been feeling for sometime.

"Danny?" He asks softly, and Danny's head hurts, pounds, his skull threatening to cave in and leave his brain as mush. "How are you feeling?"

He takes a second, a moment, to really think about that question. Plays it over in this head, tries to decipher any hidden meaning, wonders if his brain is leaking through his nose. It takes a second before he realises he's just moving his lips, gaping like a fish, no sound vibrating from his throat. He closes his mouth, concentrates, rolls the words over and over in his mind, flicks his dry tongue across chapped lips and tries again.

"Mmrrmph." Tongue flicks out again. "'ead 'urts." He manages, and already feels so exhausted, and his head is still throbbing, feels hot, itchy.

"Yeah buddy, I bet." The face says again, and he tries to place it, sifts through his muddled brain, can't find an answer. He blinks against a hazy film blurring his vision, his limbs feels soft and jelly like, his skull stuffed with cotton wool. A distant sound of a click and warmth begins to spread from the nook in his right arm throughout his body, the darkness tries to coax him back. "Do you remember what happened?"

He can't, and he isn't even going to try to pull an non-existent memory from the dregs of his brain. He closes his eyes, attempts to recall what the doctor had said to him before, can barely remember like it's a bad dream, but it's enough.

"Doc said...got shot." He forces, eyes opening and refocusing, winces when his voice reverberates through bones. He wants to scratch at his head, stop the skin prickling with heat, but he can't remember how to move his arms, make them work.

"Yeah buddy, whilst on the job." The man confirms, and Danny can feel pressure back on his hand, and he wishes he could remember how to squeeze back, make his fingers move. He process those words; 'on the job'. Man, Rachel was going to be pissed.

"It's good to see you awake, Danny." Another unfamiliar voice speaks, and a smallish woman with brown hair steps into his line of vision. He doesn't recognise her, stops trying to remember when his head begins to pound harder. She smiles gently and he wishes he knew how to smile back. "You scared us for a while there."

"We're going to catch the son of a bitch that done this." The man promises, and Danny's eyes ache when he moves them from the female stranger to the male too quickly. Then it makes sense, why they're here and he doesn't know them, because even in his muddled state, he can now recognise that they're cops promising justice.

"You nee' my sta'men'?" He asks, because he doesn't recall giving one, doesn't recall anything, and if it goes to court...ignores the concerned glance between both the strangers.

"No Danny, I was there. You're good." It takes a second to process that, to understand that this stranger probably wasn't a stranger, and that's too much for him to handle right now.

"Where's Rach?" Because he doesn't recall seeing her, either, and granted he knows she's going to be pissed, _again_, but he needs to explain that this is that last time he gets hurt on the job, because he's going to quit, for her, for their baby, because he loves her too damn much to lose her. Danny sighs, exhaustion winning over, blackness coaxing him back, and there's another click and warmth is spreading around his body again. Lets his eyes close, relief as the blackness is a welcome soother to the god awful migraine taking hold.

"Rachel is at home. With Stan." The man says, somewhere distant, and Danny wants to open his eyes to see where he's going, why he's moving away so fast, but the lids are so heavy, he just doesn't have it in him to lift them.

"Who's'tan?" Because he doesn't remember that name, either, and he's pretty sure Rachel hadn't had the baby yet, and the last scan promised a girl. "Babes'a girl. Gonna name'er Grace." Feels his mouth twitch, wonders if he's smiling, feels the warmth of the man's hand leave his own.

"You get some rest, Danno. We'll be back tomorrow." Feels a soft pat to his hand, and then feet are shuffling and the peaceful oblivion reaches out and wraps comforting arms around him. But one more thing, before he finally allows himself to give in to sleep;

"M'name's Dan-eee. No Dan-ooo."

**H50**

"Why didn't you warn us?" Steve fumes, closes the door behind him softly, confronts Danny's parents. "He had no idea who we were!"

"Would you have believed us?" Mr Williams shoots back, putting his arm around his wife and tucking her into his side protectively.

"You left us to go in there blind." Steve snarls, shrugs off the comforting hand Chin places on his shoulder. "You could have at least warned us that he wasn't going to be himself."

"What did you expect?!" Mrs Williams shrieks. "He was shot in the head. I'm surprised he's even awake, alive!"

Steve stares at her for a minute, the fire in his veins dulling down, almost burning out, unable to find any words. Because Danny's Mother was right; whether Steve likes to admit it or not, it's incredibly lucky Danny's even alive. He takes in a deep, shaky breath, runs a rough hands over his face, up through his hair, before letting it fall to his side, slapping his thigh loudly.

"What happened in there, boss?" Kono asks timidly when nobody else speaks and Steve doesn't move from in front of the door. Neither cousin has made an attempt to move past him, to go and see their friend, because Steve had shook his head slightly when they'd stepped forward, before he'd turned on the Parent's, and they trust his judgement enough to know that he sometimes knows best.

"Danny isn't...he's not...he doesn't remember us." Steve finally explains, struggling to find the right words, because Danny _is_ himself, just the Danny before they got to know him, before FIVE-0, before Hawaii, before Grace and before the divorce. He closes his eyes against the harsh reality, because at some point, someone is going to have to break his heart all over again when they explain that the love of his life has married someone else and has a new family; baby and all. "Oh god." He mumbles to himself, before moving to a seat and collapsing into it, the full magnitude of the situation hitting him.

"Now do you understand why you had to see it for yourself?" Danny's Mom asks, her voice softer, as she sits next to Steve and places a comforting hand on his knee.

"What has the doctor said? Is he going to stay like that, or is it temporary...?"

"We're still waiting for Dr. Nakesh to make his rounds." Danny's Father speaks up, and Steve sets eyes on him, sees the years of fire fighting in his stance, the horrors he's seen in his eyes, the wisdom in his set mouth. Steve nods, hangs his head, moves his hand to rest over Mrs. Williams'.

"You're all more than welcome to wait with us." He states awkwardly to the group of friends, all silent as they process the new information, try to get their head around the morbid reality.

"Thank you." Someone says, though Steve's not sure who, because he can't concentrate on anything other than the persistent ringing in his ears. An unsettled silence falls over them, no one speaks or moves until Doctor Nakesh arrives with a team of nurses and disappears into Danny's room, closing the door behind him.


	6. The Upward Turn pt2

**AN: So here's part 2 of Stage 5. I'm going through a really tough time lately; my best friend was rushed to hospital 3am Friday night/Saturday morning, unable to breathe. She was being treated for a chest infection, that was persisting for over a few weeks. Well, in the early hours of Saturday, she'd lost over 90% of her lung function, and a large white cloud on her chest xray. She had a biopsy done Saturday afternoon, and we got the results on Monday; she has stage 4 lung cancer. I'm really sad, but she's taken it better than anyone else, and we're just trying to make the most of time she has left. She's only 32 with an 18 month old little girl. :( There has been a lot of wine consumption, and a lot of late nights, so I apologise if this is all over the place. At least, for a couple of hours, Danny and Steve helped me escape 3**

**I own nothing. **

**Please enjoy.**

* * *

**The 7 Stages of Grief**

**Stage 5**

**The upward Turn**

**Part 2**

They all wait impatiently outside of Danny's room, silence thick and heavy, each straining their ears to try and hear something, anything, from inside the room, each trying to hide their desperate need to know what's being said between doctors and nurses and Danny. Time ticks by slowly on the clock in the corridor, nurses bustle and tend to other patients, family members come and go, and the team still don't emerge. After an hour, Steve stands up and starts to pace again; a habit he's formed and perfected over the past couple of weeks.

"Commander, please sit down, you're making me nervous." Mr Williams requests, and Steve stops, turns to look at him.

"What's taking them so long? Maybe I should just knock on the door and ask..." He suggests, standing up to the door, his fist raised and poised to rap his knuckles gently against the wood. The door swings open and he's faced with the familiar old face, white lab coats and chattering nurses. He takes a step back, allows them all to leave, waits to be addressed. The group of nurses scurry off together, reminds Steve of the group of girls that used to follow him around the playground in fourth grade, minus the whispering and giggling.

"Are you all here for Detective Williams?" Dr Nakesh asks, looks down at the clipboard in his hands looks back up at Mr and Mrs Williams for clarification. It takes a second, a long, drawn out second, and a glance at Steve, Catherine, Chin and Kono, before they both nod. "In that case, would you all like to follow me?" Dr. Nakesh speaks to them all, before turning on his heel and rushing down the corridor and disappearing into a room. They all hurry after him, pool into the Family Room and gather around the couch opposite the one the doctor is sitting on. A moment of tense quiet passes before anyone speaks.

"I'll start off by saying that it's a very good sign that Detective Williams is already showing signs of recovery; his blood pressure has stabilised, the inter-cranial pressure has receded to a much healthier level and he is starting to wake on his own accord. On two separate occasions I've had the chance to speak with him and he seems perfectly capable of following a simple conversation, which is another positive sign. Now, it's very early on, and we still aren't aware just how significant the damage to his temporal lobe is, whether there will be any lasting effects, if there are any at all." Doctor Nakesh addresses the anxious group in front of him, occasionally referring to the clipboard in his hands.

"He didn't recognise me or Catherine." Steve interjected. "We've known him for years."

"And he thinks he's still married to his ex-wife, that she's still pregnant with their daughter; Grace turns ten next week." Danny's mother includes, her voice shaking.

"We've still got many tests to run, to determine our course of action regarding therapies to assist in Detective Williams' rehabilitation." The doctor continues, nodding to acknowledge the obvious concerns. "These include examining how well he can follow, at first, basic verbal commands, and then more complex ones. We need to establish how his impulse control, judgement and motor skills have been affected, and of course, the extent of his amnesia."

"But it's good that he's awake already, right Doc? That's proof he's going to be okay, isn't it?" Kono speaks up, her eyes wide, hope brightening her features.

"It's a step in the right direction." Doctor Nakesh nods. "And whilst I wish to encourage optimism, I must remind you that there are still too many unknowns to us at this current time. I'm going to book the Detective in for some scans this morning, so we can get a closer look at his brain, and start to put together a care plan based on the results. In the meantime, I'm afraid I have to limited visitors to one at a time; Detective Williams is even more fragile now that he's drifting in and out of consciousness, and we don't need to overwhelm him with faces he doesn't recognise. Too much pressure on him will cause the brain to shut down and we'll be forced back a step. Am I understood?" He asks the small crowd, and hesitantly, they all nod. "Okay, I'm going to go and arrange these scans, try and get them booked within the hour. You're all more than welcome to stay here, in the Family Room, but I would personally advise you all to go home, get some rest and something to eat, and reconvene in a few hours when we hope to have more information." Doctor Nakesh smiles, stands from his place on the couch, reaches across to shake Steve's, Chin's and Mr William's outstretched hands.

"Thank you, Doctor." Steve says, the weight in his chest lifting a little, making it a little easier to breathe. Dr. Nakesh smiles and leaves the room, and a big sigh of relief echoes from each mouth, sobs sound from Mrs Williams and she turns into her husbands arms, Kono throws her arms around Chins shoulders, and Catherine snakes an arm around Steve's waist. Because even though there's no promise Danny will return to the normal, infuriating, loveable Danny they all know, he's alive. He's here, and he's _alive_.

They all agree that the doctor is right; they may not want to leave Danny, especially now that he's starting to wake, but they are all in desperate need of sleep and food. Catherine offers to drive, because Steve is dead on his feet, can barely put a comprehensible sentence together, scuffs his feet a little when he walks. They drop Chin and Kono off at their respective homes, agree to call if they hear anything, or when they are heading back to the hospital, and then Catherine heads for Steve's house with the promise that they'll go in search for his abandoned truck as soon as they both wake up from a much needed nap. It takes Steve less than five minutes to fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

**H50**

When Steve returns to the ICU four days later, it's because he's been asked to come, not because he's decided to on his own accord. Danny's Mom had called, her tone somewhat awkward, and had asked him to sit with Danny whilst she and Mr Williams make a brief return to the mainland. For a fleeting moment, Steve thought he was hearing wrong, that they can't really be leaving Danny, but she carried on to explain that they wanted to get some memorabilia – photos, old football jerseys, home video's – and bring them back in an attempt to nudge Danny's memory into returning. At first, Steve questioned whether him being there would be detrimental to Danny's mental and emotional health, but Mr Williams had cut in on the phone call, stated that if Danny was going to remember anyone, it would be Steve.

The first thing he does when he wakes is go for a swim, because if there is anything Steve knows, it's that the constant therapy of the ocean offers a clarity nothing else can, and he doesn't know how far he goes, or how long he's in the cool water, but when he started the sky was dark and the air cool, and when he emerges, tired but exhilarated, the sun has gotten a good start on the day and promises plenty of typical Hawaiian heat, despite it being the beginning of October.

He gently jogs from the shoreline, up the beach to his towel resting on his private wooden chair, then up to the lanai where Catherine waits with a mug cradled in her hands.

"Morning, Sailor." She smiles, holding the drink in her outstretched hand. "I made tea."

"Thanks." Steve smiles, taking the cup from her and taking a sip of the now warm liquid.

"What time did you get up? I didn't hear you." She asks as they both head for the kitchen, where she returns to the pan of eggs on the stove. "Hungry?"

"I don't know." Steve shakes his head, sits at the island counter. "3ish. And no, thank you."

"You need to eat." She orders, tipping half of the steaming food and a rasher of bacon onto a plate and pushing it towards him. "Even you can't run on empty." Her features soften.

"I don't have time." He says as her gets up from the hard, wooden stall and pushes the plate back at her. "I told the Williams' I'd be at the hospital for nine thirty."

"It's not even eight, Steve."

"I know." Steve shakes his head, heads for the stairs. "But I need to shower, and then I have to stop by HPD to speak to Duke about Tanner."

"Duke said he'd call..."

"Haven't got time to chat about it, Cath." Steve calls as he runs up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Steve hadn't technically been lying to Catherine; he did want to speak to Duke about Tanner, but only to see if he'd managed to squeeze him for more information than Steve had managed. A conversation he could have had over the phone, he decides, but it's a good enough excuse to get him out of the house, get him doing something.

"Hey, Duke, anything new?" He greets the sergeant, catching him by the arm as he leaves the police department.

"I'm sorry, Steve." Duke shakes his head solemnly. "A group of us are just heading out to his home address, you're welcome to tag along."

"You think you'll find something?"

"We have to do something." Duke shrugs his shoulders, because Danny might not have been his partner or a part of HPD any more, but he was..._is_...a cop, and if there's one thing Steve's learnt in the past four years, it's that cops have each others backs.

"Thanks." Steve nods. "I'll be at Queen's if you need me."

"Tell him we all say to 'Get well'." Duke smiles softly, before heading down the steps and across the car lot to his cruiser.

Steve looks towards the entrance of the building, wonders if Tanner, Danny's shooter, was still being detained, whether he should try and take another crack at him, if he could hold his temper back long enough not to rearrange the losers face. Rubs at his nose, glances at his watch, then back at the building. It's a quarter to nine; he still has some time, but not enough to interrogate and crack a drugged up sociopath, and he has no where left to go but the hospital. He sighs, because the last time he saw Danny, he wasn't even recognised and he's not going to lie to himself; he's nervous and dreading their next encounter. He digs the keys to his Silverado from his pants pocket, misses his cargo's already, and heads for his truck, accepting that he can't run from the inevitable.

**H50**

There's no handover when Steve gets to the hospital; the Williams' already catching their flight, the doctor's still yet to make their rounds. He stares at the closed door, wonders what's on the other side waiting for him, if he's ready to face whatever it is, _whoever_ it is. He take a deep breath, places his hand on the handle, can feel the eyes of medical staff and visitors on him, closes his eyes and mentally prepares himself, then enters the room.

The first thing Steve is aware of, is the strong smell of deodorant; a sign that at least Danny is conscious enough to be aware of body odour. The second is the lack of beeping from the heart monitor, lack of machines full stop. The third thing is that Danny, although still bandaged and bruised, looks more like Danny; there's no blood pressure cuff on his arm, no finger oximeter, the oxygen mask has been replaced for a less conspicuous nasal cannula and there's a faint tint of pink to slack cheeks.

Steve is unsure what to do, what his role is, can't believe it was over two weeks ago since he sat in that chair, holding that hand, begging, praying, for Danny to wake. He rocks on his feet, wonders if he should sit back there, talk to Danny, stay silent, and then kicks himself for not bringing a book, or a newspaper, or _something_. The room still looks the same, but everything has changed.

"Steve, right?" A faint voice fills the room, and Steve stops rocking, looks at hazy grey eyes.

"Right." He nods, awkwardly stepping to the side of the bed, sits cautiously on the edge of the visitors chair. It feels different than he remembers; hard and uninviting. "McGarrett. Do you remember?" Hopeful.

"Sorry." Danny shakes his head no slowly, so gentle it's hard to detect but Steve sees it anyway. "Mom said you'd be stopping by. She thinks I'm still a kid."

"Can I get you anything?" Because although he's heard Danny talk of his parents before, about how great a fireman his dad was and how good his Mom's lasagne is, this feels different...present...and it makes him feel a little uncomfortable.

"No, thanks." Danny eyes Steve suspiciously. "So...?"

"You're talking better." Steve comments, and could kick himself, because he hasn't had a handover, isn't sure if Danny was even aware of his slurring.

"Therapy." One word, enough said. Steve nods knowingly, scratches at his nose, pulls on his ear. Casts his eyes around the room, avoiding the grey ones staring intently at him. "How do we know each other again?" He asks.

"Work." Steve answers too quickly. "Uh, we're partners. Cops. Well, you are. I'm...it's difficult...complicated."

"So I'm still a cop." Steve detects a hint of relief in Danny's simple statement.

"A detective." Steve clarifies. "A damn good one."

"Detective Williams." Danny sounds, rolls the words across his tongue, tries to remember but it feels foreign to him.

"I run FIVE-0, our task force, and we're pretty kick ass." Steve's smiles at the easy truth. "Maybe when you're better, we can take a tour of the offices, see if you remember something?"

"Right." Danny closes his eyes, fingers reaching up and fidgeting with the bandage on his head. "It's so hot. Is it Summer?"

"Summer?" Steve asks, taken aback, tries not to make a big deal out of the thoughtless manoeuvre Danny's arm has just managed, wonders if he should call a doctor or just wait.

"Last I remember, it was snowing." Danny replies, looks back at Steve. "Almost Christmas."

"No, Danny it's October." Steve shakes his head, confused, and then, because he isn't sure if Danny's even aware; "You're in Hawaii."

"Hawaii?" A long moment of pause, a furrowed forehead and crinkled eyes. "Am I on vacation? Where's Rachel?" His voice starts to fade with exhaustion. Eyes close again, breathing slows.

"When you wake, buddy. Get some sleep." Steve pats Danny's hand, is surprised at how warm it feels, remembers how cold it was. Wonders if the clearing haze of depression is temporary, or if things are going to start looking up, then wonders if it's even possible.


End file.
